


prevent this tragedy

by snugglepup



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe, Combat, Drama, F/F, F/M, Flushed Feelings, Gen, M/M, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance, Terrible Children, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 08:27:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/898127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snugglepup/pseuds/snugglepup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>OH: hey nobody e/se /s around to ask and you l/ve /n the woods or someth/ng so do you have /ike any usefu/ adv/ce about how to get my /eg out of a cho/erbear trap<br/>OH: /t's coo/ /f not /'ve on/y been s/ow/y b/eed/ng out on th/s sta/rcase for an hour and a ha/f /'m sure some k/ndhearted sou/ w/// wander by sooner or /ater<br/>OH: oh wa/t / forgot those don't actua//y ex/st<br/>OH: no rea//y go r/ght ahead and /gnore me some more that's what fr/ends were for /ast t/me / checked so /n a sense you're be/ng a fantast/c fr/end r/ght now<br/>ES: >>X i Ǻp010gize i Ǻm n0t fee1ing pǺrticu1Ǻr1y we11<br/>OH: /t must rea//y suck not fee//ng we// / th/nk you're probab/y the on/y person / know who has that prob/em at the moment<br/>ES: >>X i wǺ? 0ut ?cǺvenging Ǻnd i wǺ? f0rced t0 tǺke Ǻn0ther 1ife t0 defend my?e1f<br/>ES: >>X when wi11 the dǺymere 0f vi01ence in my 1ife finǺ11y ceǺ?e? ?0metime? i fee1 Ǻ? th0ugh i might be cur?ed in ?0me wǺy<br/>OH: wow yeah my condo/ences be/ng cons/stent/y ab/e to not d/e /s such a heavy burden to bear</p>
            </blockquote>





	prevent this tragedy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic about nine OC trolls who, for various reasons, wind up in their own ominously atypical session of Sgrub. There will be no canon characters apart from the players' session's versions of universal Sburb/Sgrub "NPCs." I'm aware that this might not have a lot of appeal to the general public, but if you feel like something a little different, give it a chance. A lot of work has gone into it.
> 
> There is no sole protagonist. All nine trolls will have their own POV sections, and hopefully will ultimately have equal "screen time" where appropriate to the plot.
> 
> enigmaticSephira and lethalWaltz are my own OCs; all others were designed and have their creators' permissions to be used in this fic. Most of them were specifically designed for it, in fact. Said creators are not credited here yet, because I haven't asked each of them if they actually want to be publicly credited or not.

 

 

_"Tried to get by on bread and water_   
_Craving blood poured from the altar now_   
_Not much left to do but drown_   
_In flames of miscommunication, down_   
_Then out and off in search of someone proud_   
_To translate what we truly dream about"_

_alkaline trio -- prevent this tragedy_

**Serina: Fight to survive.**

"Get outta here, lowblood. This is my haul." The halberd he's gripping looks sharp, looks deadly, and the troll himself looks and sounds rather aggressive. There's already a sinking feeling in your stomach that's telling you this won't end without someone's death.

"Please," you say. There's a bloodlust-fueled bluish flush on his face. You hope that doesn't mean he's going to act as violently as you're expecting. "There must be a way for us to resolve this situation that benefits us mutually."

The ruins of a hive whose inhabitant apparently resisted culling rather intensely make what is at least an appropriate backdrop for lethal combat. The scattered debris of an annihilated life spots the terrain, posters here, trinkets there. A sad place to scavenge, but what else can you do to get by when you live in the middle of nowhere?

He doesn't even give you the dignity of a response. He charges, halberd raised, and the sick certainty of knowing precisely what to do fills your body. You don't think you'll ever understand why this happens, or worse, why you can't stop it once it's started. You already know where that curved blade will fall, how easy it will be to get through his guard. He's at least a sweep older than you and much bigger, but you've learned that bigger doesn't always mean tougher.

The halberd comes swishing down. You step to your right and let it slap against the ground, hop a few feet closer and slide your knife into his stomach one, two, three times. Indigo spills down the blade and wets your hand. It's sticky and cooler than your skin and you almost don't look but you do, blood dripping from in between your fingers, and you watch as he drops his weapon and stumbles, then falls and curls up into a ball, clutching his ruined torso.

At first he's screaming in pained fury at your turned back while you loot a pristine husktop (spare parts always good to have on hand) and various other useful items, and then he's just cursing weakly as the bloodflow weakens, and then he's just mumbling in a sad indigo puddle. By the time you're all packed up and ready to go he's not making noise any more at all.

There's an old road leading back toward your forest so you start moving quick, hoping to avoid any other encounters. You're almost sure you're going to be okay. You will yourself to feel all right again. This is what life on this planet is. This is the way things have to be.

You only make it a few miles before you start shaking and crying. You stumble after the sound of running water and puke into a stream until you're dry-heaving, then drag yourself away and sit wearily under a tall willowy tree and pull out your husktop. You open Trollian and scroll down a colorful list of handles. She has to be on, she has to be on. She's not on. Nobody's on except the last person on Alternia you want to talk to right now. You open a window anyway.

enigmaticSephira [ES] has begun trolling dreamersGuillotine [DG]

ES: >>X he110  
DG: oh itsss you sssup, ssstill wasssting ssspace asss usssual  
DG: well sssay sssomething already  
DG: or whyd you even contact me  
ES: >>X i Ǻp010gize i wǺ? ?0mewhǺt bu?y Ǻttempting n0t t0 v0mit 0nt0 thi? tree  
DG: not thisss bullssshit again, whatsss the crisssisss thisss time  
ES: >>X it i? perhǺp? the nece??ity 0f whǺt i did Ǻ? much Ǻ? the thing it?e1f thǺt ?icken? me  
DG: if youre gonna be cryptic im blocking you right now, no goddamn joke  
DG: ive had a ssshitty night and im in no mood for any damn enigmasss  
ES: >>X i mǺy hǺve ki11ed ?0me0ne ǺgǺin  
DG: ssso? i mean good for you but okay whatever itsss not a big deal  
ES: >>X but it i? Ǻ big deǺ1 becǺu?e de?pite Ǻ11 0f my eff0rt? t0 the c0ntrǺry i hǺve tǺken Ǻ 1ife t0 pre?erve my 0wn  
DG: oh my god i knew it wasss gonna be more of thisss ssshit itsss alwaysss the fucking boring alien crap or one of your crypupa pacifissst disssassstersss  
DG: Now, and with no need of tears,  
Here they leave me, full of years,--  
Leave me to my quiet rest  
In the region of the blest.  
\-- Troll Edwin Arlington Robinson  
ES: >>X whǺt eXǺc1y Ǻre y0u trying t0 ?Ǻy t0 me  
ES: >>X thǺt i? Ǻ p0em n0t Ǻ re?p0n?e  
DG: everybody diesss ssserina, everybody hasss to kill people get over it already i mean ssseriously  
DG: learn to enjoy it man thatsss what i did and trussst me i never looked back and arent i jussst about the happiessst guy you know  
ES: >>X y0u Ǻre n0t hǺppy y0u Ǻre Ǻ ?Ǻd Ǻnd c0nfu?ed ?eriǺ1 ki11er wh0 might benefit fr0m eX10?ive intr0?pecti0n  
ES: >>X i hǺve betrǺyed my 0wn princip1e? Ǻnd m0re imp0rtǺnt1y erǺ?ed Ǻ ?entient being fr0m eXi?10ce  
ES: >>X Ǻre y0u ?ti11 there?  
DG: its this piece of ssshit keyboard the enter key isss barely working ssso i cant sssend jack ssshit for a while sssometimesss  
DG: yeah ssso anyway i dont give a ssshit about your ssstupid principlesss  
DG: hey, uh, did you cut off hisss head  
ES: >>X why w0u1d i d0 thǺt  
ES: >>X whǺt c0u1d i p0??ib1y gǺin by cutting 0ff my victim'? heǺd  
DG: uh, more like what isss there not to gain?  
ES: >>X p1eǺ?e refrǺin fr0m eXǺ1ting vi01ence in my pre?ence  
DG: ill exalt whatever i fucking pleassse ssso try ssshuting your prissssssy trap before it getsss your assssss beat  
ES: >>X it i? ?0mewhǺt 0dd but hi? ?trife ?pecibu? Ǻ110cǺti0n wǺ? the ?Ǻme Ǻ? y0ur?  
ES: >>X ?0meh0w thǺt mǺke? it w0r?e  
DG: at leassst the dude had some tassste, sssome ssshitheadsss like axesss, no offenssse to your matesssprit or anything, but a polearm takesss off headsss like nothing elssse  
ES: >>X we Ǻre n0t engǺged in Ǻ f1u?hed re1Ǻti0n?hip Ǻnd i d0 n0t under?tǺnd why y0u keep imp1ying thǺt we Ǻre  
ES: >>X thi? i? Ǻ very juveni1e meth0d 0f teǺ?ing  
DG: okay thisss conversssation isss really getting boring ssso try to entertain me before i jussst clossse the window  
DG: do you realize youre ssseriousssly the definition of a broken needle-basssed musssical disssc, at thisss point honessstly i dont know why i even anssswer your messsssssages anymore  
DG: when youre not ssspewing all that irrelevant bullssshit about xeno-whatever-the-fuck, then you can sssure bet youll be rambling about your preciousss "consssciencssse"  
DG: the only enigma here isss how exactly i jussst managed to sssurvive five minutesss of ssserina agonesss without bassshing my own head in with a rock  
ES: >>X i? it tru1y nece??Ǻry t0 denigrǺte me in thi? mǺnner  
ES: >>X if my pre?ence i? ?0 0di0u? i d0 n0t wi?h t0 engǺge in further c0nver?Ǻti0n Ǻt thi? time ǺnywǺy  
DG: hey wait one sssec actually before you run off like the fuckin sssad excussse for a troll you are  
DG: okay that wasss more like a minute but thatsss my keyboardsss fault ssso sssuck it up  
DG: ssspeaking of sssaid girl who isss totally flussshed or black for you i cant even tell which any more, ssshe wasss talking about sssome game ssshe needsss more playersss for and ssspecifically asssked me to asssk you  
DG: there good now thisss entirely worthlessssss talk is over, the messssssage isss begrudgingly delivered, and im out wussssssbitch

You don't have any idea why you bothered trying to get through to that foul individual. You wanted an outlet for what you're feeling so of course you ended up locked in conversation with exactly the wrong detestable snake boy. A lot of time passes beneath the tree as you stare at a certain name on your list, willing it to light up and show that its owner is now online, but nothing happens.

Tears are running down your face and there's snot stuck in your nose but it doesn't matter. Nobody cares about your point of view, nobody is ever going to bother trying to understand the way you see the world, and you're not even sure what the point of having friends is when they feel less like people whose company you desire and more like people you struggle to endure and thoroughly despise.

You force yourself to calm down, slip your husktop back into your sylladex. You hesitate for a moment and then pluck out something very useful and very fragile that you scavenged a long time ago, a pair of high-tech optics complete with a holographic keyboard that enables conversation on the fly. You just can't help it, if she logs on you need to know.

When the optics actually ping, you're caught entirely off guard.

oxidizingHorizon [OH] has begun trolling enigmaticSephira [ES]

OH: hey nobody e/se /s around to ask and you l/ve /n the woods or someth/ng so do you have /ike any usefu/ adv/ce about how to get my /eg out of a cho/erbear trap   
OH: /t's coo/ /f not /'ve on/y been s/ow/y b/eed/ng out on th/s sta/rcase for an hour and a ha/f /'m sure some k/ndhearted sou/ w/// wander by sooner or /ater   
OH: oh wa/t / forgot those don't actua//y ex/st   
OH: no rea//y go r/ght ahead and /gnore me some more that's what fr/ends were for /ast t/me / checked so /n a sense you're be/ng a fantast/c fr/end r/ght now   
ES: >>X i Ǻp010gize i Ǻm n0t fee1ing pǺrticu1Ǻr1y we11   
OH: /t must rea//y suck not fee//ng we// / th/nk you're probab/y the on/y person / know who has that prob/em at the moment   
ES: >>X i wǺ? 0ut ?cǺvenging Ǻnd i wǺ? f0rced t0 tǺke Ǻn0ther 1ife t0 defend my?e1f   
ES: >>X when wi11 the dǺymere 0f vi01ence in my 1ife finǺ11y ceǺ?e? ?0metime? i fee1 Ǻ? th0ugh i might be cur?ed in ?0me wǺy   
OH: wow yeah my condo/ences be/ng cons/stent/y ab/e to not d/e /s such a heavy burden to bear   
OH: huh / th/nk there was a word /n there that's tr/gger/ng we/rd memor/es from the past   
OH: ohhh yeah / was so d/stracted by your urgent persona/ mora//ty cr/s/s that / forgot the rusted meta/ teeth ma/nta/n/ng an agon/z/ng deathgr/p on one of my //mbs   
OH: but no /et's ta/k about how w/nn/ng f/ghts makes you cursed that's tota//y my number one pr/or/ty at th/s spec/f/c po/nt /n my //fe   
ES: >>X 0h ye? i Ǻm ?0rry 1et me think f0r Ǻ m0ment   
OH: take your t/me th/s trap's pretty comfortab/e / th/nk /'// maybe even sort of m/ss /t once /t's gone   
ES: >>X d0 y0u hǺve Ǻny t001? t0 pry the trǺp 0pen with   
OH: actua//y yes that part /sn't rea//y hard /t's more the /mpend/ng cascade of b/ood and how to //ke m/n/m/ze that or whatever   
ES: >>X there i? 0n1y ?0 much t0 d0 Ǻb0ut thǺt but i w0u1d Ǻdvi?e u?ing Ǻny c10th Ǻt hǺnd t0 mǺke Ǻ t0urniquet f0r the 1eg   
ES: >>X then 0pen the trǺp in ?0me wǺy t0 free the 1imb Ǻnd Ǻttempt t0 find Ǻ ?Ǻfe p1Ǻce t0 treǺt the w0und? pr0per1y   
OH: a/r/ght we// somehow / forgot that you //ve /n the woods and you're /abor/ng under the de/us/on that there's such a th/ng as a safe p/ace   
OH: okay the pa/n /s now comp/ete/y excruc/at/ng so /'m go/ng to try to get back to my h/ve and hope nobody jumps me or anyth/ng   
OH: haha nobody jump/ng me on my way home that's a good one now / need a moment to w/pe th/s s/ng/e tear of m/rth from my eye   
OH: we// /'m go/ng to s/gn off now good /uck w/th your murder gu//t / shou/d start f/gur/ng out how to get past my own cho/erbear traps wh//e hopp/ng around on one /eg   
OH: /'// probab/y be dead next time we ta/k so yeah thanks ta/k to you /ater when /'m a chatty revenant bye

Hopefully she'll be okay? Where in the world is she that isn't her own hive but is still similarly booby-trapped? You're pretty sure she lives in a hivestem in a particularly run-down city, but... Well, you've done all you can, and you even managed to find another thing to feel terrible about in the process.

Your body feels like it's made of lead and your missing horn is having phantom itches again, but you somehow find it in you to force yourself to begin the long walk home. Trees slide by in a leisurely haze; you nearly trip sometimes when you otherwise wouldn't have the slightest trouble slipping through the trees, force yourself to keep steady so you don't fall over like an idiot. There's blue blood staining the colored parts of your dress and every time you look down and see it there's a terrible lurch in your gut and your head.

All you want right now is to hug Dogmom and sob into her fur, but you've got miles to go and plenty of time to think about the murder you just committed.

**Aloria: Fight for glory.**

Sweat runs down your brow. It's a hot night on the mesa, your arena is even hotter, you're ABSURDLY overdressed, and this fight's run on FAR longer than you expected, which is a simply WONDERFUL surprise. You heave a heavy, distracting swing and then pirouette on the balls of your feet and when it's all done somehow you're a few feet further away from your opponent and you have time to wipe your face off with the back of your hand. What some people CANNOT seem to grasp is that no matter how heavy your weapon, a TRUE warrior can always turn a duel into a dance.

This one's real good even if she DOES fight with a boring sword. She lunges at you suddenly, taking advantage of her greater forward range, and you smack her sword aside and leap forward starting with an overhead feint from your axe that twists in midair and turns into a sideswipe that draws a spray of sparks from her weapon, her feet leaving furrows in the dirt floor as she's pushed back. Frustrated, she finally makes her fatal mistake, breaking her rhythm as she screams and unleashes a flurry of furious strikes. You let them ricochet pathetically off of your weapon until she's off-balance and worn out and then you spin around in place, letting your momentum lend strength to the attack. The force of your swing snaps the other troll's blade in two.

To her credit she doesn't give up, rushes in with the broken half still trying for a stab, and you cleave her apart from shoulder to waist, indigo blood showering your body and viscera splattering across the floor of the arena. What's left of her slaps wetly to the ground and you bury your axe in the gore-stained dirt and raise your fists and scream the scream of the victor, of the unstoppable, of the immortal and divine.

A few minutes later your lusus is busy eating the challenger and you're wiping blood off onto a towel when your husktop pings.

dreamersGuillotine [DG] has begun trolling lethalWaltz [LW]

DG: hey gurl wassssssup  
LW: HELLO! oh my what a lovely surprise, how ARE you tonight my dear?  
DG: ssshitty whatever who caresss the point isss i told your matesssprit or kisssmesssisss or whatever about the ssstupid game  
DG: hey why do you want usss to play thisss thing ssso badly whatsss in it for you thatsss worth the consssequencesss  
LW: why thank you very much... i REALLY do appreciate the favor! though i really wouldn't call her either of THOSE things, dear. we're just friends, after all.  
DG: Elysium is as far as to  
The very nearest room,  
If in that room a friend await  
Felicity or doom.  
\- Troll Emily Dickenson  
LW: hmm hmm hmm, i'm SURE i don't know what you mean.  
DG: why couldnt you jussst do it yourssself anyway, ssshesss not exactly hard to get a hold of, ssshe jussst trolled me a few minutesss ago whining about sssome dumb pacifissst bullssshit  
DG: her typing makesss my eyesss hurt how doesss ssshe even do that much pointless ssshit to her lettersss dont you think it looksss fuckin tediousss  
LW: i suspect she has a PROGRAM to do it for her, dear. i don't think anyone could type like THAT. but still, what an absolutely GORGEOUS effort. i find her style to be rather exciting, actually.  
LW: and oh, YOU know how it is. she and i had a bit of a falling-out, harsh words were spoken... let's just say i was giving her a bit of a break. a BREAK! OH MY. you simply MUST hear about the fight i just finished, it was GLORIOUS.  
DG: did you cut off hisss head come on tell me you cut off hisss head ssserina never doesss anything interesssting with thossse ssshitty little knivesss but sssometimesss you get a good decapitation in inssstead of wasssting half the point of the damn fight  
DG: i ssseriously feel like im the only guy around here who underssstands the appeal and that makesss me feel very sssad for the ssstate of alternian sssociety at presssent  
LW: you silly man, it was a GIRL, and i killed her in a much more EXCITING way. oh, there was blood EVERYWHERE! it was dancing in the light of my lamps, it was all OVER me. why, i've done most uncultured things just DREAMING of a kill like this one.  
DG: tmi dude, dont tell me about the ssshit you pail yourssself to, fucking hell  
LW: spoken as though YOU'RE any different... ;)  
DG: Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed,  
But Death intenser -Death is Life's high meed.  
\- Troll John Keats  
DG: yknow it aint my busssinessssss but that little ssshrew youre alwaysss poppin your bulge for wasssnt doin too well when i talked to her  
DG: youre the one who caresss for sssome bizarre reassson ssso maybe you ssshould try to get a hold of her before ssshesss rocking back and forth sssobbing in her ablution trap or jumping off a cliff or sssomething elssse appropriately pathetic and ssstupid  
LW: why, teisik darling, from what you're saying one might almost think you cared YOURSELF!  
DG: fuck you very much and how about letsss consssider thisss double messsenger duty ssso you owe me one  
LW: yes, yes, whatever you say. forgive me, but i've a VERY silly girl to attend to, so i really must excuse myself. GOOD POST-MIDNIGHT MY GOOD SIR!  
DG: hey wait you never anssswered my quessstion about the game

You end the conversation before he has a chance to spout any more ridiculous poetry and hover over her username for a while: enigmaticSephira. She certainly IS something of an enigma. Before messaging her you lie back and stretch out on your floor, staring at the wobbly light on the ceiling cast by dozens of differently-colored lava lamps. You sigh dreamily. Ah, the PAINFUL beauty of pity and hate.

Some would ask why you're even INTERESTED in Serina Agones when she's a "theoretical pacifist" and half of what YOU do is fight people to the death in your hive's arena. To those people you would impart several pieces of wisdom: there's more to people than their differences, and SOMETIMES opposites attract. That damned Teisik has you pegged and good, not that it's hard to notice. And he's right, sometimes you DO vacillate on her, just because she can be so ENRAGING when she's stubborn.

But right now you're feeling rather more flushed for her and something's wrong and you'll be DAMNED if you'll let your girl feel bad.

lethalWaltz has begun trolling enigmaticSephira

LW: HELLO lovely, are you all right? i heard from our DEAREST guillotine that you're feeling a bit under the weather, so to speak.  
ES: >>X 0h y0u Ǻre here i'm ?0 g1Ǻd p1eǺ?e i d0 n0t kn0w whǺt t0 d0  
ES: >>X Ǻ11 i wǺnted wǺ? t0 find ?0me new hu?kt0p pǺrt? Ǻnd mǺybe eXtrǺ f00d i did n0t wǺnt thi?  
ES: >>X p1eǺ?e he1p me i fee1 Ǻ? th0ugh i Ǻm g0ing ?1ight1y in?Ǻne  
LW: slow down, now! tell me what happened, ALL of it.  
ES: >>X i kn0w thǺt y0u d0 n0t under?tǺnd me but p1eǺ?e try t0 be c0mpǺ??i0nǺt un1ike thǺt di?gu?ting individuǺ1  
LW: now now, i wouldn't call teisik DISGUSTING. GRUMPY perhaps, and a bit too... POETIC for his own good. but that's enough of tTHAT. tell me what happened to YOU.  
ES: >>X i wǺ? ?cǺvenging Ǻnd i wǺ? ǺttǺcked by Ǻn 01der tr011 Ǻnd hǺd n0 ch0ice but t0 ki11 him  
LW: oh, no. darling. maybe i don't UNDERSTAND, but i can speculate as to how HARD that must have been... poor thing. do you... do you want me to come over?  
ES: >>X i wǺ?hed hi? b100d 0ff in thi? river but i cǺn ?ti11 fee1 it 0i1y 0n my hǺnd?  
LW: PLEASE dear, i need you to stay with me right now.  
ES: >>X i d0 n0t wi?h t0 inc0nvenience y0u  
LW: the only INCONVENIENCE would be knowing a dear friend is feeling bad! and i certainly can't abide THAT, now can i?  
ES: >>X Ǻre y0u reǺ11y intere?ted in my we11being 0r d0e? thi? hǺve t0 d0 with thi? gǺme y0u wǺnt me t0 p1Ǻy  
ES: becǺu?e i d0 n0t be1ieve i cǺn hǺnd1e fǺ1?e c0mf0rt Ǻt thi? time  
LW: not at all, dear! perhaps i'm a LITTLE excited about this LOVELY GAME that you simply MUST take part in, but your wellbeing takes priority, of course.  
LW: if i weren't so WORRIED i think i might be a little bit HURT.  
ES: >>X i wi11 be h0me in Ǻn h0ur 0r ?0  
ES: >>X Ǻre y0u ?ure y0u Ǻre Ǻb1e t0 mǺke the trip  
LW: OF COURSE! anything for a... friend. you know i can ALMOST see your hive from the top of mine, anyway. even if it IS rather in the distance.  
ES: >>X i mu?t c0ntinue wǺ1king n0w  
ES: >>X be ?Ǻfe  
ES: >>X Ǻnd thǺnk y0u  
LW: be safe yourself. not that you have much trouble in THAT area, really.  
ES: >>X p1eǺ?e d0 n0t remind me  
LW: i'm SO sorry, dear. i'll be there shortly. race you to your hive!

Picking yourself up off the floor, you head to your ablution chamber to get the last specks of blood off and change into clean clothes, carefully making sure the colors clash JUST the right amount. The question is going to be what to say to her; you don't want to upset the poor stupid girl further. Why does she WORRY so much about violence, anyway? It's the one of the primary imperatives of the entire troll RACE.

You quell those thoughts before your feelings start waxing black, pack a few necessities into your sylladex and make the trek back down your tower. Cyclone is sleeping in a pile of entrails, that messy thing. You wake her up and let her know you'll be gone for a while before scratching the wolverine behind the ears. She may be your lusus, but that doesn't mean you can't take care of HER, too.

Now that you're no longer overlooking the forest the journey seems a BIT more daunting, but such is life, you can make good time running and you can run just about as long as you feel like it and this is a rather IMPORTANT errand indeed. A few hours later you're at Serina's oddly large hive (there's so much ROOM, why won't she ever let you sleep over? what a LOVELY time that could be) and her lusus is barking tripled warnings from the second floor. You hope she's home by now; she said she would be and OUGHT to have arrived HOURS ago. You knock and ring the doorbell both for good measure.

Finally the door creaks open. Her short yet LUXURIOUS hair glistens and so does some of her skin, evidence of hasty drying; looks like the Elapid boy was DEAD on with his assessment of what she'd do as soon as she made it back to her hive. She's in the CUTEST little gray pajamas with skulls all over them and you don't even WAIT to say hello before you wrap her up in a big hug.

"Aloria," she says, "I am so sick of killing, I am so sick of all of this, I threw up earlier and I had the taste in my mouth for hours, I do not know what to do, maybe I should just never leave my hive again, maybe I should kill myself --"

"Serina!" you snap. "I'll brook NO such thoughts. Now calm down and let's talk this out. So you KILLED a boy, what does it matter? There's no need to dwell OVERLONG on such things." Oh, how you wish you could have been there. She may not LIKE fighting, but watching her in action... THAT'S a thing of beauty. You sometimes dream of testing her in combat YOURSELF, and the sudden thought positively sends SHIVERS of black longing down your spine. You REALLY must get these feelings under control.

"You do not understand," she moans, tears leaving olive tracks down her pretty cheeks. "No one ever understands. I just want the murder to stop. I want to escape this awful planet, I need to be free of this endless bloodshed."

"Shhh, shhh. It's okay. I don't have to UNDERSTAND. I've got you, I've got you." She shakes for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do, and then she's sobbing into your chest, hiccuping and barely taking the time to breathe. You stroke her hair uncomfortably and suddenly wonder if she's PALE for you. Wouldn't THAT just be the most awful turn of events, her pale and you flushed or black, who even KNOWS these days. Speaking of pale, you feel like this visit is leaning MUCH too far in that direction, but you'll endure it anyway in the name of friendship. No, not even that. In the name of PITY.

A while later she's snoring on her couch with her head in your lap. You take the opportunity to further examine her body. Her breasts are JUST beginning to ripen, her hips and rear boyish but EVER so slightly convex... You wish you could run your hands along those little curves and just FEEL her. Alas, that would be EVER so inappropriate.

You're nodding off when you realize neither of you is falling asleep in sopor and that means you're in for an INTERESTING day to say the least, but you don't really mind. And eventually you're falling asleep, too. It WAS a rather tiring night, if quite rewarding. And it may be under circumstances that are less than IDEAL, but it would appear that you finally got your sleepover after all, and THAT'S something worth celebrating.

**Calixe: Sing to your spawn.**

You sit among a swarm of insects, many of whom ought to otherwise be killing and eating each other, and you sing. You open your respiratory chute as wide as you can and let loose all of the love your bloodpusher contains. This one is a composition translated from word to sound from one of your favorite old pulp horror novels, In Which A Great Many Insect Species Rise As One In An Attempt To Overrun All Of Alternia, Opposed Only By A Small And Ragtag Band of Heroes Whose Interpersonal And Quadrant-Related Drama Nearly Leads To Disaster On A Number Of Occasions Before The Quirky Scientist Discovers A Potent Toxin That Is Employed To Fight Back, Though Victory Comes At The Cost Of The Brutal And Tragic Death Of Her Moirail. Naturally, you've left out the part where the trolls win. You'd never sing such a sad tale to your bugs.

Your voice embodies biological and spiritual highs and lows, a wordless hypnotic thrum whose psychic vibrations you believe are reaching the insects around you, despite your differences in species. You've already trained this batch to avoid infighting, and you think that your voice may give them strength and hope and the courage to overcome any foes. Ants swarm across your legs, tickling your thighs and making it hard not to laugh and lose track of your song.

When you're finished you put out food for your precious army and begin to navigate your hive, winding through narrow tunnels of dirt and avoiding the many traps and deathbeetle mounds you've cultivated to guard against intruders. Eventually you find your respiteblock, get comfortable in your desk chair (which you can't resist spinning in circles a few times) and wonder who you should bug tonight. You've got all the time in the world and so few ways to slaughter it.

mantodeaMorphology has begun trolling dreamersGuillotine

MM: a hearty hello tonight, teisik  
DG: oh hey itsss you where you been i wasss gonna talk to you  
MM: singing songs of sweetness and . . ... . . . .. .... success to my beloved bugs, of course  
DG: what doesss that mean i dont ssspeak ant calixe weve been over thisss and actually i dont think anybody elssse on the planet doesss either  
MM: it means maybe i suddenly sensed trepidation and tormant from a friend  
DG: how do you alwaysss know thisss ssshit who told you i wasssnt exactly having the bessst night possssssible  
DG: how do you alwaysss ssseem to know damn near everything for that matter, youre worssse than that psssycho farm girl, and alssso why do you even care  
MM: teisik, teisik. insects anteract with wild worthwhile abanton, and the information introduces itself to me neatly and naturally  
DG: youre really going crazy with the ant thing right now whatsss wrong having trouble with your ssstupid punsss  
MM: i am spant and strained from my singing session tonight if you must know  
DG: i guessssss that makesss sssense well anyway lisssten i wasss down in the valleysss looking for prey and i found a purpleblood. picture a head like that mounted on my wall, right? ssso i go down to cut hisss head off and after like two minutesss of fighting the fucker runsss  
DG: he ran away and i couldnt catch him fucking ssstupid highblood height itsss not my fault im ssshort and sssome fuckers can run fassster i couldve killed him for sssure  
DG: I shot an arrow into the air,  
It fell to earth, I knew not where;  
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight  
Could not follow it in its flight.  
\- Troll Henry Wadsworth Longfellow  
DG: gotta make sssure to take out the purplesss, right, keep the highbloodsss sssweating  
DG: show thossse fancy motherfuckersss whosss really bossssss around here  
MM: termite you spend some time aphidmiring the rest of your carnage-caused collection of trophies to . . . ............... . ........ roachmind yourself youre the baddest bronzeblood around and that .... . . . . . ... .. . ... . . . . ... .. . . . ......... . . . .. . they are all as mayflies meandering miserably until one known as teisik thrips them of their thinkpans?  
DG: thatsss actually a good idea thanksss weirdo you know i get the feeling sssomeday ill have to mount you on my wall even though youre burgundy but youre an alright friend sssometimesss ssso itsss nothing persssonal  
DG: not to mention good work on the punsss there you really packed them in denssse  
DG: what did all that ant language mean anyway  
MM: some secrets stay cocooned until they are needed  
DG: okay that meant nothing but thanksss again and talk to you later

What an odd one. His bluntness ought to make him boring, but you can't seem to unravel his true motivations, which is most of why you talk to him anyway, considering his annoying temperament and tendency toward short and meaningless chats. Of course, slowly picking trolls apart and glimpsing what makes them tick is most of the reason you bother having friends at all, and you suppose it's good to have a long-term project.

You're still bored, bored, slumped back in your chair, yawning and tapping a claw rhythmically next to your keyboard. A fat millipede climbs over the shoulder of your gray trench coat, so you carefully lift the little friend down to a safer place on the ground, though not before a few kind words. Anyway. Who to speak with next?

 

mantodeaMorphology has begun trolling lethalWaltz

 

LW: FIRST MESSAGE! got you dear, hello though!  
MM: what wonders wait for this wistful wanderer in your blood-wet wake  
LW: you'll never believe it, love, i'm at SERINA'S hive right now and it's a simply GORGEOUS dusk out her cute little round windows!  
MM: perhaps pincing has proceeded to pailing, hm? the chrysalis of pity awakened abruptly to be blown beautifully into a brazen butterfly?  
LW: pincing?  
MM: pining  
LW: oh. no, i'm afraid not, the poor girl simply had a bad night and needed a friend. are my feelings REALLY that obvious? i don't recall ever speaking to YOU on the subject.  
MM: ah aloria, a blinded battered beetle could come to these conclusions  
MM: im aphidraid that at this point the only one out of the loop is agones herself  
MM: she simply motht notice your needy naughty needlings and yet . .. . . . . .... .. .. i comtsetsely trust that she hasnt harbored a honeybee's hint of your hedonistic hopes  
LW: ahhh, if only she WOULD! she's asleep right now, dear, and she's simply SO pretty in the evening light. i'd almost swear she was GLOWING if i didn't know better.  
MM: a love's light lingers longingly, it seems, but the dance dangerously drifts pale as a pupa  
LW: indeed, indeed. but i simply CAN'T make the first move. oh, calixe, i felt as though things became DANGEROUSLY pale with her, it was MOST confusing, if only she were easier to UNDERSTAND! but then i suppose that's her charm.  
MM: might i make a claim concerning your green girl goddess?  
MM: it is only that i cannot cast away my interest in her peculiar predilections . .. . ........ ... . and perhaps i wasp considering a meeting myself, bucket blithely brought just in case  
LW: EXCUSE me? wait, what? SINCE WHEN EXACTLY have you harbored these FLUSHED FEELINGS for MY GIRL?  
MM: you misunderstand me, my lady, for no flush has ever filled my charming cheeks for anyone at all. katydid you consider pailing possibly could be my only motive? so many possible pairings, so little time  
LW: you don't PITY her but you want to PAIL her? i don't know if that's BETTER or WORSE.  
MM: come cavort carnally within the walls of my humble hive yourself if you'd like  
LW: you want to pail ME TOO? what? i am VERY lost and i would APPRECIATE some CLARIFICATION before i march over to that TERRIFYING hole of yours and SPLIT YOU IN HALF.  
MM: consider calm, my cricket, before you're cutworm into innumerable pieces and parceled between my beautiful baby bugs.... . .. . ........ ..... ..  
MM: but bury this bedbug beneath us, please, i desire only the silkworm-slick satisfaction of something hornot my own hand  
MM: must there be bad blood between us?  
LW: why must all of my friends be such UTTER ODDBALLS! very well, dear, i'll admit i was a bit hasty with my words. sometimes i forget who i'm talking to and how very... ah... DIFFERENT your motives are. or just how very different you are in GENERAL, you strange little thing.  
LW: no GENDER, no desire for QUADRANTS. how you've managed to avoid culling THIS long i'll never know, but good on you and DAMN the drones!  
MM: i apologize for my abrupt absconding but beautiful moth-er mantis is calling and i must attend appropriately  
LW: well then, go with my good graces, love. one MUSTN'T keep their lusus waiting! and i'm EVER so sorry for my little outburst. it's just i'm rather protective of her. SURELY you understand.  
MM: no, but borerther yourself no further with my presence, for i have haste to heed henceforth

Despite your need for expedience you can't help but look over the log a few times, dissolving into giggles almost as heavily as you did during the actual conversation. Lancet is such a pathetically simple one to wrap around your finger, and a fantastic followup to your unsatisfying session with the snake. You shut your husktop, careful not to crush any bugs, and head through the tunnels to investigate moth-er's keening. Eventually you find her chamber where she hangs from the wall, crying out loudly. Her wings flutter, sending gusts of wind through the room and knocking about lesser insects, and she twitches her curved blades impatiently. Moth-er hunts on her own of course, but there's something she can't get from the fauna outside of your hive.

Unslinging your pincers from your strife specibus, you wear just one on your right hand and drag the razor sharp tip across your left palm. You extend your hand and moth-er swoops down to land in front of you, sending the room into further chaos. Her long proboscis presses against your wound and she sucks carefully for a few seconds, the long thin tube filling with burgundy blood.

Satisfied, your lusus blasts through a hole in the ceiling and takes to the skies for whatever purpose she may have in mind. The amused smirk left from your time toying with your "friends" widens and shifts into pure bliss for just a moment as you watch her go.

You stretch, brush a few larger bugs off your clothes and start the long search for the tunnel end where you keep your bandages.

**Teisik: Take shitty feelings and make them into something better.**

First, you meditate. Your lusus isn't around to hang out with, must be out hunting, so you ponder the words of the wise as you swear to yourself that the next troll you see with any fucking blood color higher than bronze is gonna end up watching the world from the vantage point of your trophy hall, and speaking of which you descend two terraces on the mountainside and go back into your hive. The room is distressingly bare, its vast and carefully constructed wall mounted with only a dozen or so heads out of three hundred open spots. You don't save one from every fight, obviously; you save only the ones from tough opponents and any highbloods you might theoretically nail in the future. Each trophy is a mark of victory, a badass decoration, and a link to the memory of a satisfying kill. You spend a while thinking about past glories, but your frustration continues to nag, even overday. There's only one way to work out lingering venom like this.

A minute later you've got a cylindrical ink dispenser and one of your notebooks. You resist the urge to chew on the tip of the ink dispenser as you let your mind and heart wander. You're entranced by the deepest thoughts you can wring out of yourself; the dispenser's tip moves almost on its own as words come loose. Hours pass as you write, scratching out lines and words and underlining others, jumping back and forth between ideas and formats and rhyme schemes and lack of rhyme schemes.

Finally you get tired as you decide you've expressed enough of your soul for the night. Your wrists and hands ache pleasantly and the memory of that cowardly highblood barely lingers. There's only one thing left to do before you can feel at peace with your work, so you pull out your husktop and sit cross-legged in front of your trophies.

 

dreamersGuillotine began trolling  slumberingArchivist

 

DG: hey man howsss it going   
DG: hellooo?   
DG: oh my god youre doing the thing i know youre not away are you sssleeping at your keyboard again you narcoleptic fuck   
DG: or youre sssitting there pretending to be asssleep jussst ssstaring at the ssscreen like a creep ssso you can ssspace or fail at reading sssome ssshitty pretentiousss thousssand page book why dont you jussst log the fuck off if youre gonna do thisss ssshit   
SA: i m he re tei, sor rry i wa s e xam inin g th is bea u ti ful ma r ble that fiach br o ugh t h o me tonight   
SA: th e outs ide is b lu e b ut it sh i ft s to th is reall y at t rra c ti ve s or t of o li v e gr een t ha t s hi nes w h en th e l ig ht h it s it jus t r i g ht   
SA: it s spa rk l ing in the mo onlig ht l i ke a re forg ed sha r d of so me stra nge fa lle n hea ven, a p u re d r o ple t of the cosm os b less i ng the gr a y sk ies of m y mi n d w i th r ays of cl e a n wa ter, a cul min a tion o f al l the su b tle c ues tha t my pur po se in th i s l ife m ay at las t be rev ea le d   
SA: t h o ugh wh a t pu r pos e a wre tch su ch as i co u ld ser v e is u p fo r ques t ioni ng   
DG: ssso your sssaying you think itsss all true then after all   
DG: all the ssshit that wasss written in the weird book ssshe found with the dissscsss   
DG: sssounds good to me ive alwaysss known my purpossse but thisss thing sssounds like a fucking bloodbath and ive got a lot of ssspots to fill on thisss wall   
SA: a re y o u su re you re re a dy, i kn ow im no t, i m pr e tt y s u re i a m goi n g t o d ie be f o re i ev e n m a ke it te n m i nut e s in t o th e g am e, if i e v en m ak e it i nt o t he m ed iu m at a l l   
DG: i wasss fuckin hatched ready plusss chill okay we sssorted thisss out ill be your ssserver player and trusst me the day you die itsss gonna be me who doesss the job im not letting sssome goddamn ssspace debrisss beat me to it   
DG: lisssten forget all that ssshit ive got a new one now   
DG: i dont know though itsss pretty persssonal i ssshould probably jussst rip it up thisss wasss all a missstake what wasss i thinking   
DG: oh my god dont let me sssend it i can already tell i wasss wrong and itsss ssshit and a wassste of like three goddamn hoursss   
SA: t e isi k i m s l e ep y so do n t di ck a r oun d w i th t h is m an ip u l a ti ve s e lf consci ou s n ess bu ll s h it j us t s end the da mn t h ing   
SA: h i t m e be for e im s n or ing, p oe t boy   
DG: oh ssshut up you fuckin sssuck at being all ssslick you nerd fine go ahead and marvel at the ssshittinessssss

DG: I am here waiting  
Asss the rain fallsss in every color  
Pooling beneath our feet and  
Ssstaining our handsss with ssstrength  
The light reflecting off a blade  
Illuminatesss the universsse  
One in death with everything  
Livesss flassshing like lightning  
Out amongssst coordinatesss in vacuum  
Billionsss ssstrong, these ssspecks of light  
Wait to ssscream and be ssslain  
We roar and ssslake the ssstars with blood  
Ssspeak from a black hole, pleassse, for  
The headsss of the fallen are sssilent  
Tell me where I ssstand amongssst  
The detritusss of thisss hopelessssss ssspace

SA: i l o ve it w h a t s the tit le   
DG: i dont know yet dude i jussst wrote it thisss ssshit isss fresssh from the thinkpan itsss barely even edited   
SA: i t hi n k it sh ou ld be "he a ds of t he fa l l en"   
DG: thatsss ssso pretentiousss youre sssuch a prick i dont know why i come to you for thisss ssshit like im baring my sssoul here asssssshole the leassst you can do isss come up with a good title   
SA: yo u kno w v e r y we ll w hy yo uc o me to me wit h t he s e t hi n gs   
SA: tei i m g ett i ng so t i red of t he s e t err i b le dre ams   
SA: e v e ry one i s e xac tl y the s a me, i m in a da r k p la ce w h ere al l i ca n do i s l iste n to the se wo rd s tha t i can t un de rs tand   
SA: do y o u h ea r th i n gs i n yo u r dr ea m teisik   
DG: dude weve talked about thisss dammit you know i hear them whissspering every damn day it doesssnt matter where i go on that ssstupid moon itsss alwaysss all ooh ssscary ssspace sssquidsss in my thinkpan itsss ssso tediousss   
SA: yo ure wro n g th i s is di ff e re nt im n o t l ik e yo u   
SA: whe re yo u go the re i s li fe e ve n if its n ot th e l i fe yo u re fa mi liar with, whe re y ou go y o u a re ex al t ed, y ou ar e a h ero   
SA: i s u ppo se it i s my d e s tin y to wa l k t h is w o r ld l os t i ns i de t he p ris on o f m y ow n m i nd   
SA: the re w a s a time that i c o uld st o p myse lf fr om c r yi n g tei wh at h a pp e ned   
SA: im so t i r ed a g ai n b u t im ti r e d of the drea m i d on t w a nt to sl ee p e ve r a g a in   
DG: sssigh unholy fuck okay you can jussst sssay it dumbasss you dont have to beat around the fucking busssh im on my way over ssso ssshoosssh already   
DG: i ssshouldve known, your typing is even lessssss legible than usssual   
SA: tei i m h un g ry i f o rgo t to ea t aga in i p a ss e d o ut ins t e a d   
SA: t he re m a y als o h a ve bee n s o me t r oll dav i d f os t er wa lla c e in vol ved i f im be ing en tirely hone st   
DG: okay okay ill bring sssome fucking food jussst hold your hoofbeassstsss   
DG: take care of yourssself idiot i ssstill havent killed you yet remember   
SA: <>   
DG: <>

You toss some snacks and other shit from your worryingly underpopulated wooden door sealed nutrient supply substance container into your sylladex and then get out of the hive before you change your mind. The mountain path is treacherous, especially higher up and closer to your moirail's hive, but you've navigated it enough times to know how to avoid setting off any avalanches. Wind howls around the summit and you pull your jacket tight as you prepare to interact with one of the few highbloods you're allowing to live on a deferred sentence.

When you get there you take in its shittiness the way you always do and you find you're still impressed. The rickety little hut is missing boards from its walls and probably has holes in the ceiling again, you're going to have to help this stupid asshole fix his hive up again any night now, you just know it. For someone who reads all the time, you'd think he'd have learned something about basic fucking architecture. Did he even bother using his carpenter drones six sweeps ago? At least it's pretty in a kind of apocalyptic, disastrous way; there's so much junk and so many shiny baubles worked into the construction that it glitters in the moonlight. It's a gorgeous catastrophe. It's completely and utterly HIM.

When you get there he's lying splayed across his desk with his right arm thrown dramatically over his eyes and his legs dangling off the edge. He must hear you come in even if he doesn't move. For fuck's sake. You walk over and poke him a few times and he doesn't stir at all.

"Wake up, you ungrateful little fuck," you say loudly. Nothing. You grab him by the shoulders and shake him. "You know what, I bet you're not even really asssleep. Lossst contemplating your place in the goddamn universsse or sssomething." There's a book laying half-open next to him; judging by paragraph length it's obviously Troll David Foster Wallace. You don't know what he gets out of this crap. He never even finishes the damn book.

"Teiiiiiiiiiiii," he sighs. "Tei, I'm saaaaaaaaaad." You stifle a groan, grab him by the collar of his big striped black and gray sweater and drag him into a sitting position.

"Why are you sssad, asssssshole," you say. He flops over sideways and knocks a few other books off the desk. One of his legs swings out and almost hits you in the bone sheath. You don't have a goddamn clue why he always gets like this. It's not like anything ever happens in his life, anyway; all he seems to do is read half of every one of the hundreds of books littering his hive, troll you to whine about shit you barely understand, and either fall asleep at totally inexplicable times or pretend to sleep for reasons you still can't fathom.

"Everywhere I look, I find infinite information, and yet it all slips away like the last whisper of a lonesome ghost. Why? Why must I lie here among shards of knowledge that only cut my bare feet as I walk? For what purpose was I placed here on this planet? To consume the written word in vain in perpetuity? To die a hideous death in a strange game to which I can't possibly contribute anything of value? My very soul cries out, my uh, my... what... my something is like..." He trails off and his eyelids flutter as he slumps back onto the desk.

"You have to figure that ssshit out for yourssself, dumbassssss," you say. You force him to sit up again and shake him until he looks a little bit more alert. "Quit fucking falling asssleep out of your sssopor, ssshithead. No wonder you have bad dreamsss and a mind full of fucking crazy."

"It's not the saaaaaaame," he says. You grab the end of his horns, the part that'll shock him instead of popping his bulge and causing a hideous quadrant-warping sexual calamity, then you make him look you right in the eyes. Once you've really got his attention you slowly drag your palm across his cheek. His eyes go half-lidded and a contented buzzing radiates from his chest. "Iiiit's not, thouughhgh," he slurs. You shove a bag of grubchips into his hands and slap him around and cuss a little every time he forgets to keep eating, and whenever his eyes start filling up with tears for no reason you shoosh and pap him and let him melt and forget about all his ridiculous bullshit. When the bag is empty and you know he has at least a little bit of fuel in him you make him walk protesting to his recuperacoon. He takes off his clothes while your back is turned and reluctantly climbs in.

"Hey," you say after all's clear and you've turned back around. He's just a head sticking out of a container of heated radiant slime now. The crow's foot needle-facilitated artistic dermis modification on his cheek is half-hidden by sopor, but you can see it; you still wonder why he didn't just keep on wearing his sign on his clothes, let alone who did it for him last sweep, but whatever. "My poem. Did you, uh... did you really like it?"

"Couuuurse," he mumbles. "You knowwww, Tei, yerrrrr myyy.... my... reaaal good with words." You turn around as quickly as possibly so he can't see the bronze flush spread across your face.

"Go to sssleep, Corvin," you say, and leave him there. Pausing in the doorway and questioning the legitimacy of a sudden snore, you can't help but look over your shoulder. As far as you can tell he's really asleep now and not just being a mindfucked creep, so you shut his splintery door behind you carefully, trying not to knock it off its hinges in the process.

Pity. What a weird thing it is. You try to shake your head in irritation and then an image flickers through your mind, of your moirail sleeping peacefully with his unbrushed hair all mussed and sopor up to his chin. Something tugs at your lips and you growl at yourself for being sentimental. You'll never know why you're pale for this dumbass piece of highblood cull bait, but when you think of what he said about your poem, you don't really care.

You open your strife specibus less out of worry and more just to feel the comfort of a holding a weapon, spending the walk home with the Decapitator's familiar weight slung over your shoulder, and on the way you think about your crow boy up on his summit and can't help but mutter a few lines under your breath.

_"The cloud-pale unicorns, the eyes of aquamarine,_   
_The quivering half-closed eyelids, the rags of cloud or of lace,_   
_Or eyes that rage has brightened, arms it has made lean,_   
_Give place to an indifferent multitude, give place_   
_To brazen hawks. Nor self-delighting reverie,_   
_Nor hate of what's to come, nor pity for what's gone,_   
_Nothing but grip of claw, and the eye's complacency,_   
_The innumerable clanging wings that have put out the moon."_

_\- Troll William Butler Yeats_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

       


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